None Left Behind
by princessesierra
Summary: A young woman arrives at the Leaky Cauldron with no memories and only a vague sense of what she was sent there to do. She sets about on her quest with a growing certainty of one thing, and one thing alone - no one should be left behind. [AU]
1. Not Much of a Plan

Chapter 1  
Not Much of a Plan

She shivered in the alley opposite the dingy pub as buckets of rain poured down on her. The people passing by took about as much notice of her as they did the pub she had her eyes fixed on. Everyone was in a hurry to get out of the rain.

_Last chance, _she thought to herself. _No turning back after this._

Then she crossed the road and walked into the Leaky Cauldron.

She didn't know how she'd ended up in that alley. Her memories were all of 5 minutes old, and that was extremely disorienting. She eyed the bar uncertainly. A drink couldn't hurt, after all? And she needed someplace to stay. She needed to get her thoughts in order.

She had a feeling she knew why she was here, but it was maddening not to be sure.

"What can I get ya?" asked the barkeeper as she sat down on one of the grimy stools.

"Uh… Firewhisky, please."

He pushed a glass of the amber liquid in her direction, and turned his attention to other customers. She reached for it with shivering fingers and took inventory of her possessions, such as they were. Sodden coat, 1. Bag of coins in its pocket, 1. Shoes drenched and leaking water, 1 pair. An aching sense of injustice, infinite.

So she wanted to correct an injustice, and she was here. How could she be certain she even belonged here? She supposed that being able to see the pub was a good start. But getting into the alley beyond… well, that was another kettle of fish altogether.

"I'd like a room for the night," she said when the barkeeper happened to move nearer to her end of the bar.

He grunted. "That'll be fifty sickles."

She nodded. "And another Firewhiskey, please." The glass in her hands was already empty.

The morning found her warm, dry, and in much better spirits. She'd spent the early hours of the morning outlining as many things as she could think of. It wasn't a plan, exactly, but it was the beginnings of one. Easy to execute, it would not be. But without a discernible past to provide context for herself, this was all she had going on for her.

She had to ask the barkeeper for help getting into Diagon Alley. To her relief, he didn't think much of it. He must have other kinds of people who needed help getting into the place. Wandless people. Goblins, and hags, and things like that, definitely. And surely squibs and the parents of Muggleborn kids would need help as well. She thought of Hagrid briefly, and shivered. She was almost certain she'd never met the man, but it felt as though she knew enough about him already.

Once in Diagon Alley, her first stop was the post office. The letter was already written, and she was fairly sure she had engineered it so that she was guaranteed a response. If she didn't, then it was on to Plan A Sub Plan B. But for now, her next step was clear - she needed a wand if she was going to survive in this world.

She walked into Ollivander's expecting it to be eerie and silent, and was rather surprised to see that it wasn't. There were at least three customers in the shop already, small kids who chattered away excitedly while their parents smiled on. She settled herself in a corner of the shop and waited quietly, resisting the tug of excitement everything around her was threatening to bring out in her.

If she was going to get rejected her, she'd rather she didn't have an audience for it.

Finally, the last of the kids trailed out, beaming at their big step into the world of adult magic. The old man turned to look at her, the smile on his face getting rather fixed as he, presumably, realized he couldn't place her the way he did his usual customers.

"And how can I help you, Miss…?"

"Arwen," she said, repeating the name that had popped into her head when filling out the guest particulars at the Leaky Cauldron the previous night. "Lisa Arwen. I'm looking for a-"

The measuring tape that did its work by itself cut her off as it leapt to her face, seemingly measuring her nose on a whim.

"A wand," finished Garrick Ollivander. "Wand arm out, please." He was still watching her carefully, as though he expected her to jump up and do something extraordinary, any moment now.

"Uh…" She held up her left hand, and then her right, looking hopelessly from one to the other. Which one had she used to write her letter?

"Ambidextrous, I see? Not that common a quality, that," observed Ollivander. "Have you had a wand before? You look a little too old to be measuring for your first."

"Umm…" she cast about helplessly for a likely excuse. "I, uh, I used to have my mother's old wand. It wasn't great, though, and it, uh…"

"Quite." His polite tone seemed to indicate that he didn't entirely buy what she was selling, but he didn't care either way. Ollivander took down a stack of boxes and placed them in front of her. "Let's get started then, shall we?"

The pointless wand waving seemed to go on forever, and she felt her misery growing by the minute.

"It's no use," she finally said after what felt like the fiftieth box was tossed aside. "I'll just, er, I'll just get going. Sorry to have wasted your time."

"No, no, no, young lady." She noticed that Ollivander had quite the gleam in his eye by now. "I'm sure we have just the thing for you somewhere in here."

"You don't understand. I don't think-"

"What, that you're magic enough?" he finished, seemingly knowing exactly what was bothering her. "You're not the first to worry about that, you know?"

She grimaced, said nothing.

"Here," he said, plopping another stack down in front of her.

It happened halfway down the stack. Without warning, the umpteenth nondescript stick of wood she reached out for came alive under her grasp.

Lisa - she supposed she was Lisa now - froze, looking down at the wand she held.

"There, what'd I tell you," cackled Ollivander. "Alder wood with a dragon heartstring core. Thirteen inches. Surprisingly swishy."

She turned the wand over in her hand, marvelling at it, yet determined to give nothing of her emotions away.

"You could do worse than alder, you know," continued Ollivander, packing up the box and handing it to her. "Loyal wood, that. Although the dragon heartstring makes for a rather temperamental wand. It would be interesting to see what the combination achieves. That will be five galleons."

She paid for the wand silently and exited, her mind already moving past the initial rush of happiness, and onto more practical matters. She'd give the owl a day or two to respond. In the meantime, she had reading to do. A lot of reading.


	2. Dark Lords and Ice Cream

Chapter 2  
Dark Lords and Ice Cream

Albus Dumbledore set down the letter he was reading - for the fifth time - with a sigh. The owl that had brought it showed no signs of moving. It had settled on his desk, one claw held out for a reply, its unblinking stare fixed on him. Every now and then it would break the monotony by snagging a piece of toast from his plate before resuming its vigil.

He might have dismissed the letter as crank mail. Indeed, he had been inclined to. Anyone might write to the Headmaster of Hogwarts, after all. But there had been something about it - a hint of too much detail, perhaps. Too much troubling detail.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_ it read.

_I hope my letter finds you in good health. I'm writing to request an audience with your august self, at your earliest convenience. I believe I have information of the utmost significance to you, and which closely relates to the troubling events of a few years ago. _

_It is my conviction that unless action is taken well in advance, we may find that history repeats itself in the not too distant future. I have reason to believe that you share this conviction. _

_The wizarding world has bought itself a reprieve at immeasurable cost. It is my intention that this cost is not repeated. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, but will be a long time coming, and responsible adults have much work to do before then. _

_Do let me know when would be a good time for you, and please do me the kind favour of arranging transport to your esteemed location as well. _

_I await your owl. _

_Regards,  
__Lisa Arwen _

Albus felt glad he had opted to breakfast in his quarters today. Setting aside his toast, he got up to retrieve his Pensieve. Bringing up the memory he was looking for wasn't difficult, and he was staring at the pearly miniature of a woman in oversized glasses within minutes.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…" said the memory of Sybill Trelawney. "Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

Albus remained bent over the Pensieve as the figure sank back into its depths. It could have been just a careless turn of phrase, he mused. But the overall tone of the letter suggested to him that the author had chosen her words carefully. Coming to a decision, he sat down to compose a response. After all, there could be no harm in hearing the mysterious Miss Arwen out.

Dumbledore's response came sooner than Lisa expected. She was slightly amused to find that he had suggested a meeting in Diagon Alley itself. That he was still appropriately cautious was a good sign. It was a pity, really, that he had never bothered to implement that level of caution during the war.

Well, perhaps she was being too hard on him, but Lisa didn't feel she could afford superfluous kindness at the moment. She had spent all night and all morning poring over the books she'd picked up from bookstores all over Diagon Alley. Books on the basics of magical theory, on elementary transfiguration and charms lay scattered across the room, heavily underlined and outlined in parts. On the desk lay a sheaf of parchment covered in notes. But there was still so much she didn't understand.

At precisely 5 pm, there was a knock on her door. Right on time, she thought, as she set aside the remnants of her late lunch and pushed the books under the bed, dropping the edge of the coverlet to hide them. Her coat, seemingly carelessly dropped over the notes on the table. There was no reason to give the man more information that needed to have about her. It would be concerning, she mused, if he were to somehow get more information on her than even she had herself.

Not that she'd put it past him. She pulled open the door to reveal the magnificent white beard of the Hogwarts Headmaster filling most of the doorway.

"Professor Dumbledore," she said, mostly to the beard. "A real pleasure to meet you. You're… taller than I expected."

That got her a twinkle. He inclined his head. "You must be Miss Arwen."

"I am. Would you prefer to have our conversation somewhere outside? I'm feeling like coffee and an ice cream."

"Lead on, Miss Arwen," Albus replied amiably.

They found themselves at Fortescue's, where they were promptly given a back room she hadn't even realized existed. They sat in silence until their food arrived, Lisa striving to seem unperturbed under the Headmaster's constant, searching gaze.

When the door closed behind Florean Fortescue, the Headmaster made an almost imperceptible flick with his hand, towards the door.

"We may now speak freely."

She raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Muffliato?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Alas, I wish I could say I was that sophisticated. No, I'm afraid I'm used to cruder spells from an older time. But just as effective, I think you'll find."

She smiled. "Thank you, Professor. I'm here because I think you need my help, and because you'd be a fool to refuse it."

It was Dumbledore's turn to raise an eyebrow in surprise. "A bold assertion, even if I do say so myself."

"Yeah, that's kind of the problem," she muttered.

"You must forgive me. My hearing isn't what it used to be. What was it you were saying?"

"Your hearing is fine, Professor. I must say I'm… troubled, to say the least, by the toll this war has taken."

"Such is the nature of war, unfortunately," he replied, looking weary. "Especially when we don't even fully understand what it is we're fighting."

"And that's where I come in, Professor. To supplement your understanding."

He inclined his head again. "Do go on."

She took a deep breath. Enough games. Here went nothing.

"I think we can both agree that Riddle isn't dead."

The look of surprise probably registered on Dumbledore's face for longer than he'd have liked.

"That's not a well-known name."

"Yes, I know. I also need you to take me seriously, Professor. Because I know why he wasn't killed that night in Godric's Hollow."

"There are theories…" he began, before she cut him off impatiently.

"I'm not theorizing, Professor. I _know_. And I know how he can be killed. But it's not going to be easy."

Dumbledore sat back, his frank stare appraising her anew. "Nothing worth doing rarely is."

He finished his coffee and set the cup back down.

"Perhaps this is a conversation better finished elsewhere. Might I be so bold as to extend an invitation for you to stay at the castle for a while, Miss Arwen? Perhaps you can return with me this very night."

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Professor," she replied, smiling.

As they left the shop, she wondered whether he could hear how loudly her heart was pounding. She had done it. She was going to Hogwarts.


	3. A Plague of What-Ifs

Chapter Three

A Plague of What-Ifs

Walking into Hogwarts evoked the strangest sensations in her - like coming home to a place for the first time. She had barely any time to marvel at all the amazing aspects of the castle she remembered. Remembered was perhaps the wrong word for it, she mused, considering the state of her memories. It was like she _knew_ things, without knowing _how _she knew.

"I have arranged lodging for you among the staff quarters," Professor Dumbledore was saying. "Considering the late hour, perhaps you would prefer to turn in for the night? Dinner will be sent up to your room."

"That's very kind, Professor. Thank you."

"Mr. Filch will show you up to your room," he continued, nodding at the caretaker who had appeared through a side entrance to the foyer. "Good night, Miss Arwen. I look forward to continuing our fascinating conversation in the morning."

Lisa stood there for a moment longer, watching the Headmaster sweep from the room. Then she was called back to the present - and to the greasy sneer on Mr. Filch's face - by the rumblings of her stomach.

"Shall we?"

Lisa did not wake feeling particularly rested. She had tossed and turned all night, fighting a wave of crushing anxiety. It didn't seem to matter how many times she told herself that her panic was irrational - there was just no arguing it away. She felt plagued by _what-ifs _\- what if the Headmaster refused to help? What if nobody believed her? What if she was unable to figure out how to carry out her mission? And there was the worst _what-if _of them all: What if she failed?

What if she left someone behind?

In the end, she climbed out of bed in an effort to beat the mindless panic, and began applying herself to her studies once again. She had found that the longer she spent reading, the easier the concepts came to her. Practicing basic spell work served to further strengthen her theory that perhaps she wasn't as much of a stranger to the world of magic as she had previously assumed herself to be. The spells came easier the more she worked on them, and even seemed to grow in strength and speed proportionate to her rising confidence.

But spending hours practicing spell work was, as she found out the hard way, exhausting. Lisa didn't remember falling asleep, but it was well into the day when she awoke with her face stuck to the pages of a book.

It took several minutes of rapid blinking, but her eyesight finally adjusted, bringing into focus a house elf who had clearly been interrupted in the middle of its cleaning.

"H'lo," she mumbled. "Who are you?"

"Miss has mail," said the elf, sniffing disapprovingly before disappearing with a crack. Lisa sighed. So much for making friends on her first day of school. She turned her attention to the missive on the desk the elf had been talking about.

The looping cursive seemed unmistakable at even a single glance.

_3 pm. Demiguise. _

A look at her watch told her she had less than an hour until the appointment. She hastily collected her notes on her plan - such as it was - and left the room. It wasn't like finding the Headmaster's office was going to be easy in this labyrinthine castle. Or so she thought, until she walked out of the room and into the house-elf from before, knocking it over.

"Oops. Sorry!"

The elf picked herself up, rolling her eyes as if she had expected no better from Lisa.

"Follow Manita," she snapped before setting off at a run Lisa was able to easily keep pace with.

Once they were in front of the gargoyle marking the Headmaster's Office, Manita disappeared as unobtrusively as she'd initially appeared. Lisa eyed the entrance with some trepidation.

"Demiguise."

The gargoyle sprang aside, revealing a circular escalator. Odd, she thought to herself as she stepped forward. She had been expecting a golden staircase, for some reason.

Dumbledore was waiting for her, even though she was early for her appointment.

"Miss Arwen," he said warmly, leaning across his desk to shake her hand. "I trust you've had a restful night?"

Lisa scoffed as she slid into a chair opposite him. Now that she was in the man's presence again, she could feel her hackles rising, albeit somewhat unwillingly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "I'll have some lunch sent up, and we can talk comfortably here. Comfortably… and safely."

"Thank you, Headmaster."

"I would appreciate it if you could clarify my curiosity on something to start with. You said you know that Voldemort isn't dead."

Lisa nodded.

"How?"

She sighed. "Professor, you need to understand that I don't actually know _how _I know a lot of things. I just do. And it may even be difficult to prove many of the things I tell you. I need you to know that I'm not acting in bad faith."

He leaned forward and fixed her with an intense blue stare. "I see. Well, then perhaps you can tell me your… _theory _as to why he's still alive."

Lisa smiled to keep from gritting her teeth. "As I mentioned before, Professor, I'm not theorizing. Voldemort wasn't killed by his spell backfiring because of his horcruxes."

Dumbledore's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair.

"Miss Arwen, are you saying that you know for a certainty that Voldemort successfully created a horcrux?"

"No, Professor, I'm saying he successfully created horcruxes. Plural."

"Impossible," whispered Dumbledore, horror struck. "Even he wouldn't dare, would he?" His voice trailed off and he seemed to have forgotten that Lisa was in the room. "Oh, Tom…"

"Professor?" Lisa had to work to keep the impatience out of her voice.

Dumbledore sighed, collecting himself. Perhaps it was her imagination, but he suddenly looked much frailer.

"You know, Miss Arwen," he said, leaning back into his chair, "there are times in one's career as an educator where one must look at one's reflection in the mirror, and see the face of utter failure staring back."

Lisa resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Dumbledore certainly had his moments when it came to being dramatic.

"If you're quite done feeling sorry for yourself…"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Forgive me, Miss Arwen, I-"

"No, I get it," interrupted Lisa. "It… sucks, in a word. But even in school, even when he was your pupil, you had to have known that- that there was no turning him away from the courses of action he had set his heart on."

He inclined his head in assent.

"And yet, one always hopes."

They sat in silence for a moment longer, before the Headmaster broke the silence.

"I must thank you, Miss Arwen, for this information. I had considered the horcrux as a possibility, especially considering the changes Tom underwent after leaving school. But multiple horcruxes… while the news itself comes as a crushing blow, it is something to work with. I-"

"I'm not done."

"I beg your pardon?"

"There's more, Professor. I know how many - or at least, I can take an educated guess at how many. And I know what they are. And where they are."

Dumbledore stared, once more at a loss for words.

"And," she shrugged, "I know how to destroy them, but I suspect that's something you probably know as well."

"Yes," he said slowly, still staring. "There are… books in our own library that dealt extensively with the subject. Restricted Section, of course, but I've no doubt that Tom would have had little difficulty getting his hands on them during his time at Hogwarts." He scowled. "In hindsight, probably not the best idea, leaving them within the reach of students."

He gave her another long, searching look. "You know, Miss Arwen, I'm beginning to fully appreciate what you meant when you said that I need you."

Lisa stared back at him, her expression neutral. "So I take it you're open to working together?"

"Yes, I think that we certainly-"

She held up her hand, cutting him off once again. "However, I do have some reservations, Professor."

"I'd expect no less, Miss Arwen. This promises to be a most dangerous venture, and-"

"I have some reservations, Professor, about you. About working with you."

Dumbledore stared at her in frank astonishment. "Me?"

"What was it someone once said?" Lisa's eyes took on a faraway look. "Secrets and lies," she quoted. "They come naturally to you. You work behind the scenes, rarely fighting on the front lines. You keep parts of a plan secret from the people expected to execute it, giving them only what you think they need to know."

The old man's jaw tightened. "I do not know how much experience you have fighting a war, Miss Arwen, but sometimes it is important to keep details under wraps. The risks are too high. Even something as simple as human emotion can sometimes ruin everything. Human error-"

"Is that what you're calling your incompetence? Human error?" Her voice cut across his words like a whip, silencing him immediately. Liza found that she was trembling, filled with inexplicable rage.

"All your secrets, all your machinations, and you couldn't even find the traitor in your midst, Professor. You couldn't keep the people who trusted you from dying, picked off one by one like sitting ducks. Betrayed by someone they considered a friend. A fellow soldier. But most of all, Professor, they were betrayed by your inability to lead."

She got up and began to pace. Dumbledore sat as though he had been turned to stone, his blue eyes blazing.

"Sirius Black fooled us all," he said coldly. Quietly.

"Sirius Black," she sneered back, "is innocent. Just another victim of your blind foolishness. Of your ego."

The frozen silence between them seemed to crackle with a dangerous electricity.

"Explain yourself," he finally said in a dangerous whisper.

"The Potters' Secret Keeper," said Lisa, still pacing. "The traitor in the Order of the Phoenix." She didn't even bother to look at him.

"Yes. Sirius Black. He was James Potter's best friend, best man at their wedding-"

She was already shaking her head, before he could even finish his sentence.

"Did you even bother to try and find out who it was? Did you bother to interrogate anyone in the Order?"

Dumbledore sighed wearily.

"Miss Arwen, I respect the conversation we have had here. But so far, all you've given me are guesses. Possible avenues of investigation. I'm going to need concrete something to work with, if I am to trust anything you say. _Proof, _if you will."

"Trust is earned, Professor," she said finally, coming to a stop. "And you haven't earned mine. I came to you because I believe that you are well-placed to help stop Voldemort. But to do that, I need you to look past your prejudices and biases, and your belief that you alone know how best to handle a situation. I need you to stop playing chess using other peoples' lives as your pawns. You are our strongest player, but we need you out in the open, not hiding behind a desk."

She considered her options for a moment, biting her lip. She was still feeling disoriented from the anger that had come upon her so suddenly. She couldn't shake the nagging sense that it was a clue- a remnant from whoever she had been, before she woke up in a downpour opposite the Leaky Cauldron. But that was a mystery for another day. For now…

"I hope you'll think about what I've said. I'll see you at dinner, Professor Dumbledore."

She turned on the spot and left the office before she broke and allowed herself to feel any guilt at the way she had spoken. Dumbledore sat as though petrified in his chair, and made no move to stop her.


	4. The Disappointing Absence of Fiendfyre

Chapter 4  
The Disappointing Absence of Fiendfyre

Albus Dumbledore stayed seated long after the young woman had stormed out, collecting his thoughts.

_"Sirius Black," she had sneered, "is innocent."_

That alone should have proved to him, definitively, that she was full of it. _He _alone had known who the Potters' Secret Keeper had been. This young woman - this _Lisa_ \- what did she know? She hadn't been around. She didn't know any of them, or what they'd been through.

_"Is that what you're calling your incompetence?" _

He wasn't someone who could afford public displays of self-doubt, but Dumbledore would always be the first to admit - in private - that this wasn't for the lack of any. Her words had shaken him to the core because she had merely repeated back to him what he himself believed to be true.

And yet, there had never been anyone who could have done what he had done. That was what he had always told himself.

Lisa Arwen was offering him a way out of this conundrum. She had said as much. She was offering herself as an alternative - setting herself up as an authority to rival his own through sheer knowledge.

If it could even be called that, he reminded himself. She had offered no knowledge so far - only assumptions. Only theories. Nothing actionable. Nothing that could be proved. And she seemed far too emotional to be able to view matters with any kind of objectivity.

So why was she still in the castle? Why hadn't he promptly thrown her out? Why had he even invited her to the castle to begin with?

She had known the name Riddle. There were very few people who knew that name. Fewer still, who knew enough to connect it to the dark wizard who styled himself Lord Voldemort. Albus tried to make a list of sources from where the woman could have gotten this information.

There were Tom's classmates who had later grown up to become his followers. The first Death Eaters. Many of them were no longer even alive. Fighting Aurors wasn't the best way to ensure a long and healthy life. A second generation of Death Eaters were now either languishing in Azkaban, or had barely talked themselves out of Azkaban with great difficulty. They were effectively neutralized for the moment, and Dumbledore doubted that even they knew Voldemort's birth name.

Who did that leave? A handful of former professors of Hogwarts, but most of them had never made the connection between Tom and Voldemort. There was Horace Slughorn - he'd know. But Albus knew the man well enough to know that he wasn't going to be stirring any Dark Lord related pots any time soon.

Then there was how _convincing_ she sounded. It wasn't easy to _convince _Albus Dumbledore. He was an accomplished Legilimens, and an even more accomplished reader of human nature. He was fluent in body language, and nothing about hers told him he was talking to a liar.

No. At the very least, Miss Arwen was convinced that she was telling the truth.

Albus sighed. He needed more to go on. He needed _proof_. And he needed to convince her to give it to him. If she couldn't... Well, _then _he'd eject her from the castle with a clear conscience.

A knock at the door recalled him to his surroundings. Albus looked up.

"Ah, Severus. Thank you for coming."

The newly minted Potions Master walked in, looking wary. His vigilance was unsurprising. The man still carried scars - both physical and mental - from the war they had all just survived. And Albus got the sense that Snape didn't fully trust him yet, even now.

"I need help with something, Severus. Please, have a seat."

Snape reminded standing, his black eyes devoid of expression. Dumbledore sighed inwardly. A guarded Occlumens to do his bidding. How apropos.

"We have a guest staying with us. A Miss Lisa Arwen. I'd be grateful if you could carry out some basic inquiries about her, see if we can find out where she's from, that sort of thing."

Snape nodded. "I'll see what I can find out, Headmaster. Anything else?"

"No, not at the moment, Severus. Thank you."

Albus watched the man turn and glide out of the room without another word. It was almost time for dinner. Dinner... and a peace offering.

Lisa was late for dinner. It was her own fault. She had gone for a walk after her tempestuous meeting with the Headmaster. To clear her head, she'd told herself. She hadn't realized that she had had a destination in mind until she found herself on the seventh floor, looking at familiar tapestry.

_We meet again, ugly trolls._

She leaned against the wall, surveying the blank space she knew hid one of the castle's best kept secrets. She had business here, of course, but that would have to wait. There were some things Dumbledore would have to see for himself, if they were going to be working together.

_If_ they were going to be working together. Lisa shook her head, trying to get rid of the nagging sense that she might have already ruined everything by losing her temper.

_I need a place I can practice in, _she thought, starting to pace the length of the wall.

_I need a place I can practice without being disturbed. _

_A place I can use to plan and strategize. A place I can lose control in. _

She wheeled around after her third pass, and found to her great relief, a door framed in the centre of what had previously been blank wall.

The Room of Requirement had been everything she'd dreamed of, and more. A bookshelf against one wall contained exactly the kinds of books she needed to continue her studies. A whiteboard hung against another wall. A lifesize dummy stood at the other end of the room, a target painted on its chest in blue, red and gold.

"Brilliant," she whispered to herself. "Remind me to get snacks down here next time."

As if on command, a new door began to materialize along one of the walls.

"Not now, not now!" she snapped hastily. "Sorry."

She had lost track of time after that, sending Stunners one after the next at the dummy. It was beginning to look a little battered by the time she collapsed to the floor in exhaustion, confident that she'd mastered the execution of the spell. She looked over at the dummy with a twinge of guilt. If she was being honest, she'd been taking more than a little of the rage inside on her on the thing.

"Wow, what time is it?" she wondered out loud. A little alarm clock immediately appeared next to her and began to chirp shrilly.

Lisa swore. It was well past 7. She was going to miss dinner as well at this rate. She scrambled for her possessions and made a dash for the door. Just before it shut behind her, she turned and said "Thank you," to the thin air.

The room was sentient, wasn't it? A little good manners wouldn't go amiss.

When she reached the Great Hall, Lisa's heart sank to see that there was only one empty seat at the teachers' table. And it was right next to Professor Dumbledore.

Oh, well. Nothing like facing an awkward situation head on, was there?

She slid into the empty seat, trying to appear as insignificant as possible.

_Ignore me, ignore me, ignore me-_

"You should try the potatoes, Miss Arwen. The house elves have outdone themselves today."

Despite herself, Lisa froze. So much for getting through dinner without an awkward conversation. Dumbledore seemed to have regained his equanimity though, so there was that to be thankful for.

"Thanks, Professor."

"I owe you an apology, Miss Arwen."

Lisa looked up at Dumbledore, frozen in the act of spooning potatoes onto her plate.

"I-I beg your pardon?"

"You seem to be right about a great many things. You certainly were right about me. I hope you are still open to working together? I hope that in time I can demonstrate to you that I can be trusted."

She kept her eyes on her plate. "Of course, Professor. And, uh... I never intended for you to have to take me at my word. I have proof."

Dumbledore's renewed focus on his own plate told her she wasn't the only one in this conversation trying to mask their feelings.

"And, uh, how soon would you be able to... get this proof?"

She shrugged. "Tonight, if you want."

She felt, rather than saw, Dumbledore's eyebrows shoot up in surprise again.

"That is, if you're free after dinner, Headmaster."

Dinner was a very quick and silent affair after that. Dumbledore ate as fast as anyone could without literally shoveling food into their mouths.

"You can meet me in my office once you're done, Miss Arwen," he said, standing up. "I shall just need to get a cloak, and-"

"Oh, there's no need, Professor," she said, rather enjoying herself at this point. "We aren't going far. Why don't you sit down and give me ten minutes."

Dumbledore sat, looking rather stunned.

"Have a glass of pumpkin juice, Professor," she said airily, pushing a goblet towards him.

Twenty minutes later, they were back on the seventh floor, looking at musically challenged trolls in need of anger management.

"I daresay you know where we are, Professor?"

"At this point, I dare not ask how _you _know, Miss Arwen," came the reply.

Not wanting to waste any more time in conversation, Lisa began crossing the blank wall.

_I need the place where everything is hidden, _she thought.

_I need the place where people hide things. _

_Things they hope never to see again, or hope to return to get, someday. _

A gasp from Dumbledore told her she'd hit her mark.

"Shall we?"

What she had privately taken to calling the 'Lost and Found' of the Room of Requirement was exactly as she had imagined it. Mounds of assorted rubbish towered over them, with rows and stacks extending in every direction. Dumbledore gave his surroundings a cursory glance before returning his attention to her, confirming Lisa's suspicions that he'd had the opportunity to use the room in this form before.

"Well, unless you know of a way to find something in this room easily, I'm afraid we're going to have to do this the old-fashioned way, Professor. Going to be a bit of a hike," she added, eyeing the hillocks of forgotten possessions.

"There's always the Summoning Charm," supplied Dumbledore helpfully.

"I know, but I'm not so sure that's going to work on a horcrux."

Dumbledore did a slight double take. "So the proof you offer is a veritable horcrux? Hidden, as you claim, within Hogwarts itself? I'm not sure whether to be impressed or to conclude that you're - in a word - delusional!"

"That's alright," she replied vaguely, trying to summon up a mental image of what she expected the Diadem to look like. "This is hardly the most astounding thing we're going to be doing."

_Raven shaped? Something to do with blue maybe? Ugly man bust, definitely. _She raised her wand. "_Accio_ Diadem!"

They waited. And waited. She felt her shoulders sag.

"The hard way it is then," she muttered, turning away in disgust.

The diadem nearly hit her in the back of the head.

"This is marvellous, Miss Arwen," she heard Dumbledore say wonderingly. She turned to find the man turning Ravenclaw's lost artifact over and over in his hands. He must have snatched it out of the air right before it hit her.

"Is this...?"

"Yep, that's it," she confirmed. "Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem. Stolen by her daughter, and then by Tom Riddle. He turned it into a Horcrux for himself, and then hid it in the castle, incidentally, the night he came to ask you for a job."

"Astounding," Dumbledore whispered, his eyes still on the diadem in his hands. "You may consider me well and truly convinced."

"Glad to hear it. Shall we go? This place actually kind of gives me the creeps."

Back in the Headmaster's office, the two of them stared at the dark object on the table between them.

Dumbledore was the first to speak. "Well, that was easy."

Lisa was confronted with the mental image of evil, sentient flames bearing down on her.

"Are you complaining, Professor?"

"No, no, of course not."

"Any ideas on how to destroy it, Headmaster?"

"None at the moment. Even I dare not summon Fiendfyre, but perhaps there is a chance of locating Basilisk venom on the black market. I'll check with some of my contacts in Knockturn Alley."

"In the meantime, we need to keep this thing safe. And us safe from it."

Dumbledore looked at her curiously. "I have heard rumours of the effects of horcruxes on people around it."

"Yeah, it has the ability to possess you, if you let it."

"Interesting," he muttered. "Well, I can have it sufficiently warded for now. I can only hope that we locate the venom quickly."

Lisa coughed to cover the urge to giggle.

"Yeah, about that..."

* * *

AN: Sorry to end on a teasing note! Hope you like it, and feel free to let me know even if you don't. :D


	5. A Horde of Acromantula

Chapter 5  
A Horde of Acromantula, Living Next to a School

Severus Snape was, all things considered, feeling decidedly grumpy. Well, at least, grumpier than usual. There was nothing Severus hated more than a dysfunctional power dynamic. A dysfunctional power dynamic that was stacked against _him,_ he thought, correcting himself as he flashed back to the events of the recent years.

He had, to put it lightly, royally buggered himself, and was now looking down the barrel at a couple of decades of indentured servitude to Dumbledore as a result.

Not that it would do to be thinking such thoughts. Dumbledore might not be as vicious as his old master was, but he was just as skilled a Legilimens. Best not to risk it.

He broke out of his reverie to find that he was already at the Headmaster's office.

"Demiguise."

The gargoyle sprang aside, and Snape briefly wondered whether it too was jeering at him, or whether that was merely his imagination. So much had gone wrong so fast, and try as he might, he couldn't help dwell on all of it.

"Ah, Severus. Please tell me you have good news."

Severus realized that the Headmaster had that look about him again - the kind Severus had gotten used to seeing during the war. For all his poise and composure, there were times when the man had looked like he was going to keel over and die on the spot.

It would seem that this was one of those times.

"I'm afraid not, Headmaster."

Dumbledore's face fell, and Severus would even have felt sorry for him if the man hadn't been so vaguely insufferable.

"Very well. Tell me what you know."

"The first anyone remembers seeing her is at the Leaky Cauldron, the same day you received the first letter from her. There are no records in England of anyone by that name, no records of any foreigners coming in either. It is almost certainly an assumed name."

"Curious," muttered Dumbledore, deep in thought. "Tell me, Severus, do you think she can be trusted?"

Severus shrugged. "Honestly, I couldn't say, Headmaster. I have yet to even speak to her."

"Hmm. Premature judgment would be... unbecoming, after all," mused Dumbledore. "Well, thank you, Severus. My apologies for wasting your time."

"Not at all, Headmaster." He bowed slightly and left the room, only stopping to kick himself once he was in the corridor outside. Bowing was another habit leftover from his erstwhile master's service. Severus found that there were far too many of those that he was finding hard to get rid of.

Back in his office, Dumbledore scowled. He had hoped that between his own vast network, and that of Severus', they would have been able to find some information on the mysterious Miss Arwen. But the closest thing Dumbledore had found to a match was a character in a Muggle fantasy series that had the same name. If anything, this seemed to support Severus' theory that the name was an assumed one.

_What are you hiding, Miss Arwen?_

Miss Arwen was hiding, among other things, a most despicable ignorance of even the most basic precepts of magic. At least, that was her takeaway as she stepped away from her cauldron, swearing. Three hours she'd spent slaving over it, measuring out ingredients and following instructions step by minute step, only to have it billow purple smoke and threaten to blow up in her face.

When she'd finally gotten the mess contained, she tossed her wand onto her desk and collapsed on the bed, exhausted. It had been stupid to think she could attempt a potion by herself. No matter how easy the textbook had promised it would be.

She was contemplating a long, luxuriant shower when the angry house-elf showed up again.

"Miss is wanted in the Headmaster's office."

Lisa groaned softly. "Now? Can it wait a couple of hours?"

Manita glowered, making it clear what she thought of Lisa's suggestion. Sighing, she dragged herself off the bed.

"Alright, thank you. I'll be right there."

_I have _got_ to figure out how to do that,_ she told herself, as the elf disappeared with a crack.

When she got to the Headmaster's office half an hour later, Lisa was bemused to find the place filled with people. Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape stood behind the Headmaster's desk, while others were scattered across the room.

"Ah, Miss Arwen," said Dumbledore, customary twinkle installed firmly in his eye. "Allow me to introduce you."

She looked around the room and had a feeling she was going to recognize some of the names here.

"This is Alastor Moody, head of the Auror Department at the Ministry of Magic."

The man she had correctly pegged to be Moody gave her outstretched hand a brusque shake and nodded, both eyes firmly fixed on her. Lisa met his gaze firmly. There was no point acting like she had something to hide around Moody. Judging by his stare, he already knew she was hiding something, and was well into the process of trying to figure out what it was.

"Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic."

"A pleasure, Minister." The portly man in the bowler was practically a caricature of a born politician.

"Miss Arwen." Fudge gave her a troubled smile, and Lisa had the feeling that he wasn't looking forward to whatever he suspected she and Dumbledore were in the midst of cooking up.

"This is Kingsley Shacklebolt, another renowned member of the Auror Department. He and Alastor will be spearheading our... efforts at the castle."

Kingsley gave her a gracious bow, which Lisa returned.

"Yes, well, about that, Albus," said Fudge, clearly unable to contain himself any longer. "I think we'd all appreciate some clarity on what exactly we're doing here."

"Absolutely, Cornelius," returned Dumbledore swiftly. "Please, have a seat."

Lisa would have bet her wand that Cornelius was among the ignorant minority here, going by the fact that both Kingsley as well as Moody were members of the Order. She didn't recognize the other people in the room, but Dumbledore was likely to want at least as many Order members as Aurors on the mission.

"We've all heard the rumours over the years," began Dumbledore. "Rumours of a chamber hidden in the Hogwarts castle by one of its founders, Salazar Slytherin himself."

There was a muttered imprecation from Fudge, and she could hear whispers rising amongst others in the room as well. It was, it would seem, obvious where Dumbledore was going with this.

"I understand," continued Dumbledore, raising his voice slightly to quell the impending rebellion, "that it is difficult to take information about the Chamber of Secrets seriously, after all these years. However, we may now have pertinent information about the Chamber that will help us to not only locate it, but also open it."

"With all due respect, Albus, there's no proof such a place even exists," said Kingsley, his tone soft despite his disagreement.

"It's poppycock!" said Fudge flatly. "I'm sorry, Headmaster, but I will not sanction-"

"Please, Cornelius. Hear Miss Arwen out."

Fudge looked like he was restraining himself from rolling his eyes as he turned to Lisa. There was an expectant pause from the group, in which Lisa discovered that she had forgotten how to speak.

"Um..." She cleared her throat and gulped. _Strong. Commanding. Brook no nonsense. _

All very useful tips, in theory.

"A great many searches have been conducted in the past for Slytherin's chamber," she began, finally forcing the words out.

"And none of them have found so much as a hidden nook," snapped Fudge.

"I suspect that there are a great many aspects of Hogwarts that have eluded a great many people," Lisa snapped back, recovering some of her verve. It would appear that Fudge was irritating enough to quell a rising panic attack. "The fact remains that students of Hogwarts were terrorized just a few decades ago by the so-called Heir of Slytherin. If memory serves, one girl died, did she not?"

"The perpetrator of that attack was caught, Miss Arwen," cut in Kingsley. Lisa noticed him dart a nervous glance at Dumbledore before continuing. "There is no danger of something like that repeating, I'm sure."

"Mr. Shacklebolt, you are either unaware of the details of that attack, and the subsequent events, or you are lying," she returned coldly. "The students who were attacked some forty-odd years ago were petrified - frozen as though turned to stone. I presume Mandrakes were involved in their restoration?" This last was posed as a question to Dumbledore, who nodded.

"The student who was wrongly accused - I said _wrongly_ accused, Mr. Fudge," she continued, raising her voice slightly to forestall Fudge, who was clearly about to interrupt again, "was one Mr. Rubeus Hagrid. I believe he continues to live at Hogwarts, and works as the groundskeeper."

Dumbledore nodded again, his expression tight, and Lisa saw Fudge's eyes widen. Clearly, he had not been privy to that last part.

"Mr. Hagrid happens to be rather gifted around magical creatures the rest of us consider highly dangerous and unmanageable. He had been harbouring, inside a broom cupboard in the castle, a baby Acromantula."

This pronouncement got a few reactions. Kingsley Shacklebolt started in surprise, the woman standing behind him turned to murmur something to the man next to her, Alastor Moody's magical eye was now watching Fudge intently, but Fudge himself betrayed no change in expression.

"So?" he asked, his face turning redder.

"_So, _Minister, Acromantulas aren't capable of petrifying anyone. They tend to eat people, it's true, but petrification? That's not in their skill set."

"Well, if that were true, I'm sure the point would have been raised at the time, Miss Arwen," said Fudge, in a condescending tone that Lisa was sure would have made Slytherin himself proud.

"No doubt, Minister, but the student who, er, _caught_ Mr. Hagrid had an impeachable reputation. It was his word against Hagrid's, since nobody else saw the Acromantula, and no one would have doubted him. Not at that time, not in Hogwarts."

"And you have proof that refutes his word, do you?"

"Well, that really depends on what you would call proof, Minister. The Acromantula in question lives right here, in the Forbidden Forest. Goes by the name of Aragog. He's doing quite well for himself, in fact. Got himself a wife, kids, the whole shebang."

Fudge spluttered. "Do you mean to say that there's a horde of Acromantula in the Forest, right next to a goddamn school?" He turned to Dumbledore, whose eyes were no longer twinkling.

"You also have the testimony of Hagrid," Lisa continued, before Dumbledore had a chance to respond. "And last, but not least, you now have the luxury of knowing that the unimpeachable student who had Hagrid expelled was the last person to be trusted in the matter."

Alastor Moody's magical eye had swivelled back around to Lisa.

"And why's that?" asked Fudge, as though in spite of himself.

"Because that student was Tom Marvolo Riddle, who grew up to style himself Lord Voldemort."


	6. Impertinence

Chapter 6  
Impertinence

The room exploded in angry noise, and Lisa didn't bother trying to make herself heard above it. Dumbledore finally had to resort to purple firecrackers from the tip of his wand to restore order.

Cornelius Fudge was beside himself in anger. He whirled around and strode all the way up to Dumbledore's desk, his outstretched finger practically jabbing the Headmaster in the face.

"Explain. Yourself," he snarled, breathless.

"Cornelius, I'm not sure..."

"Yes, you are, for God's sake! You're _Dumbledore_. You must have... You had to have..."

"Minister," cut in Alastor Moody, speaking for the first time since Lisa had entered the room. Fudge fell silent, looking at the head of his Auror Department.

"Tell me, Alastor, were you aware of this?"

"Of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's real name? No, I was not." The piercing glare Moody gave Dumbledore suggested that he was not very happy with his old friend just at the moment. "But it seems to have come as no shock to you, Albus."

Dumbledore inclined his head, gravely. "Tom Riddle was my student many years ago, and I-"

"Never told the rest of us," Moody finished, his face like stone.

Dumbledore gestured vaguely. "It wasn't pertinent-"

"Not pertinent?" Moody's voice took on a silky, dangerous edge. "Albus, I was tasked with hunting him down. I spent close to a decade tracking down known associates, aliases, mysterious disappearances in far-off countries, all the time watching my friends and colleagues get killed and maimed, one after the next. All this time, and I now find out you knew the man's real name all along?!"

There was a pause. Dumbledore looked uncharacteristically fit to kill. Lisa imagined that having his authority or his judgment questioned so effectively wasn't a problem the man had to deal with very frequently. Behind him, McGonagall's face was frozen into a mask of affront. Snape looked as though he were barely restraining himself from sneering. His eyes met hers across the room, and Lisa suddenly got the sense she wasn't the only one enjoying this just a little bit.

"My apologies, Alastor," said Dumbledore finally. "You more than anyone know that I am not exempt from making mistakes. From here on out, any information I have is yours, regardless of how I deem its relevance."

_A likely story, _thought Lisa, but a slight relaxation in his stance indicated that Alastor seemed to buy it. She had the distinct feeling that Dumbledore was going to have words with her later. _Lots_ of words.

Dumbledore gestured towards her, eager to keep things moving. "Miss Arwen, please, do go on."

"Thank you, Headmaster," she said as all eyes turned once again to her. "Since the monster is unlikely to be an Acromantula, that brings us to the question of what can actually cause that kind of damage. I've done quite a lot of research into the matter, and it is my belief that we are dealing with a basilisk."

"A basilisk," repeated the woman behind Kingsley. "A forty-year-old basilisk?"

"Actually, Miss..." Lisa trailed off, looking at her questioningly.

"Vance. Emmeline Vance."

"Right, Miss Vance. If it's true that this basilisk was left behind by Salazar Slytherin, it would be around a thousand years old."

Emmeline Vance swore, and looked around at the man she'd been speaking to earlier.

"Well?" she asked. "Any thoughts, Scamander? This is your area of expertise."

_Scamander_. Lisa tried to figure out why the name rang a bell as the elderly man next to her shuffled forward reluctantly.

"A basilisk may well be capable of surviving for a thousand years in the manner you have described, Miss Arwen. It, uh..." He cleared his throat and looked around at the room once before thinking better of it and fixing his gaze firmly on the ground. "It could, in theory, feed off the magical energies around the castle. But it's unusual for people to survive basilisk attacks easily, Miss Arwen. They are highly venomous, and looking into the eyes of a basilisk is deadly as well. Petrification..."

"Is possible, is it not?"

"Petrification occurs when a victim meets the stare of a basilisk indirectly. As though, uh, as though through a reflective surface, for example."

"Great," sneered Fudge. "So now we don't just have a thousand year old basilisk roaming the castle, we have a _conscientious_ thousand year old basilisk roaming the castle. Just out for a scare, is it? Halloween prank gone wrong?"

"You're nearly right, Minister," she replied. "It wasn't the basilisk being choosy, but rather the person controlling it."

"Controlling a basilisk," interrupted Scamander, his gaze darting quickly from Fudge back to the ground, "is not possible, Miss Arwen. They are powerful creatures, intelligent, even, and consumed by limitless hunger..."

"You're right, of course, Mr. Scamander. But at the end of the day, the basilisk is a snake, and Slytherin was reported to have a... particular propensity for snakes."

"You don't mean..." Kingsley looked shocked, like he was re-evaluating a lot of things.

"You're saying Slytherin could control the snake because he was a Parseltongue," said Alastor grimly. "And that whoever attacked the students forty years ago was one too."

"Riddle," said Emmeline Vance, finishing their collective train of thought. "You-Know-Who was at school when it happened. And he seems to be rather obsessed with snakes for some reason."

"Yes, he styled himself the Heir of Slytherin. He talked the snake into creating a reign of terror around the school."

"So why did he stop?" asked Moody. "He had everything - the snake, a huge supply of Muggleborn students to murder, and ample opportunity to roam around the castle," here he threw a dirty look at Dumbledore, "free of any suspicion. And yet only one girl died. Why stop at one?"

"Because after Myrtle Warren's death, the Ministry threatened to close down the school altogether - something I suspect Riddle did not foresee. He would not have imagined that the life of a Muggleborn would be valued highly enough to have that effect. And Riddle... Riddle _loved_ Hogwarts like he has loved little else in life. It was his home, and without it, he had nowhere to go."

Moody laughed at that, a loud, twisted bark.

"Well, that's reassuring. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has feelings too. Who would have thought?"

Lisa gave him a small smile and shrugged. "But there you have it. He promptly framed Hagrid and stopped attacking students, re-sealing the snake back where it came from."

"And you say you know where the Chamber is, and how we can get in?" pressed Alastor.

"Yes. The Headmaster will be able to tell us the where, but the how is a little more difficult." All heads swung towards Dumbledore at this pronouncement, who looked more than a little confused, and at least a little angry.

"You see," she continued, "the Chamber can only be accessed by a Parseltongue. So if anyone happens to know of a Parseltongue who can help us with this, now would be the time to say something."

Glances were exchanged, but no one volunteered anything.

"Parseltongues are rare," said Snape, finally. "Even in Slytherin house, no one has known a Parseltongue since the Dark Lord himself."

"Practically unheard of," agreed Vance, nodding.

"I see. Well, that's disappointing, but I'm sure we can come up with something. Even if we don't have an actual live Parseltongue, I've heard that it's a language like any other. That is to say, it can be learned."

Heads turned in Scamander's direction, who shrugged at the opposing wall. "It may be possible. Hard to tell, without further study, but I'll definitely look into it."

"Alright," said Dumbledore, cheerily clapping his hands together. "Well, I think that takes care of just about everything. Minister, I take it we have your blessing?"

"Well, I-" began Fudge, taken aback.

"Excellent," beamed Dumbledore, taking the man by the shoulders and striding out. "If you would all join us for dinner..."

And then he was gone. The rest streamed out in ones and twos, talking amongst each other. All except Alastor Moody. Lisa stared at the back of his head as he headed towards the exit and nodded, feeling very confident that his magical eye was looking back at her.

She saw his head dip once as he left without another word.

* * *

**AN: **I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I am with the writing :D

Please forgive any typos (and feel free to point them out.)

Chapters will be uploaded rather erratically for the time being - I'm dealing with a whole bunch of exams as well at the moment - but I'm hoping to update at least once a week for now.

**Disclaimer: **This is JK Rowling's world, and I'm only borrowing the characters for a while.


	7. Countermeasures

**Chapter Seven**  
**Countermeasures**

_'Tis a desolate time  
To be stuck on a rock  
Shackled to a sinking ship_

_But my eyes, my eyes are drawn  
__To invisible shores of hope  
My eyes, my eyes they seek_  
_The inevitable triumph of my Master's deeds_

The song rang out across the mostly silent superstructure, refusing to be quelled by the biting wind or the rattling breaths of the dementors. In his cell, Sirius Black swore. If only the damn woman would have the good sense to shut the hell up. She was going to have all of them on them like flies.

And sure enough, he could hear the rattling grow nearer. Despair swept across the cells like a blanket, and Sirius felt fear explode painfully inside his chest.

"Bella!" he roared, knowing it was too late already. "Bella, shut the fuck up!"

Unfortunately, this only had the effect of making her louder.

_A desolate TIIIME  
To be buried here  
Amidst dead SOULS_ _and blood TRAITORS  
_

_BUT I'LL ENDUURE  
UNTIL THE DAY MY  
MASTER COMESSSSS  
TO take me home-_

Her last lines were choked as she began to whimper - five dementors hovered outside the door to her cell, sucking out every last hint of emotion they could find. Sirius huddled into the farthest corner of his own cell and tried to block it all out - the dementors, the singing, the screams that would erupt any moment now...

_Foolish Bellatrix,_ he couldn't help thinking. _Hope is something they can take from you. _

He had no such thing. And so Sirius waited out the screaming, shivering in his corner. Faces from the past flashed in his mind, the memories made starker, more intense in detail by the dementors' presence.

* * *

Dinner was a hushed affair, with the visitors still talking among themselves. Whether by design or by chance, Lisa found herself seated between Alastor Moody and Emmeline Vance. The former sniffed his beef suspiciously before stabbing it with a fork, while the latter gave her a gracious smile.

"It's Arwen, isn't it?"

"Yeah, Lisa," she responded, pulling a plate of food towards her.

"You must be new to these parts."

"Uh, yeah, kinda."

"You must be impressive indeed, for Dumbledore to trust you so quickly."

_No, I just knew the right things to say._

Lisa gave her an uncomfortable smile and said nothing.

"So, are you a researcher of sorts? Foreign academia is making great strides these days, or so I've heard."

So this was a fishing expedition. Lisa shrugged, not keen on giving up too much information to an Order member.

"Of sorts. I guess you could say I've made it a point to research all things Voldemort," replied Lisa, having no idea whether it was true in the least. Lying through her teeth was getting easier by the day.

"Still, a lot of this information," pressed Emmeline. "It can't have been easy to come by."

"I guess not."

"Oh, for crying out loud, Vance. Give it a break," grumbled Moody. "The girl clearly knows what you're up to, and she's not cracking easy."

"Alastor! I wasn't-" Emmeline trailed off, looking highly affronted. "Miss Arwen, I hope I haven't caused any offence. I was merely curious."

"No, that's alright," Lisa replied, smiling. What she wouldn't give to have Moody on her side.

Vance immersed herself in conversation with Professor McGonagall, who was on her other side, after that, leaving Lisa to contemplate her food in peace.

"One can hardly blame her for being curious," remarked Moody after a while, apropos of nothing. "I'm sure Dumbledore knows what he's doing, but I'm not one to trust a random stranger on her say-so. Most of what you've told us-"

"Seems like conjecture. I know." Lisa knew her tone was betraying her impatience. "I've already jumped through these hoops with Dumbledore once. I gave him the proof he wanted. He's satisfied."

Moody grunted. "And I suppose neither of you will be sharing with the rest of the class."

She shrugged. "That's more his style than mine, to be honest. Regulating the flow of information is all very well, but strangling it is another matter altogether."

Moody sniffed and examined his food even more closely. "Perhaps I can... That is to say, perhaps you would like to... Uh, perhaps we could discuss this further over a drink later in the evening, Miss Arwen."

Lisa fought the urge to snort. "You don't issue many invitations, do you?"

The look he gave her would have frozen lava. This did nothing to help with her urge to snicker.

"Let's say around 10 pm, the Leaky Cauldron."

He gave his plate a barely imperceptible nod, and the rest of the meal was finished in silence.

Lisa was feeling much happier with herself by the time she got to the Leaky Cauldron, having finally gotten the time for that luxuriant shower she'd promised herself. She found Alastor in a corner booth, the table in front of him completely empty save for his hip flask, which he was staring morosely at.

He didn't look up immediately as she slid into the booth and called for a Firewhiskey, opting for another swig from his flask instead.

"Mr. Moody."

"You can call me Alastor," he shrugged. "Mad-Eye if you aren't too keen on politeness."

"Alastor, then. Well, shoot."

He did look up at that, his one good eye giving her a quizzical stare.

"I presume you called me here because you have questions."

"And I gather that you're being rather evasive about the answers."

"Some things I _can't_ explain. I simply don't remember." Lisa had no intention of being anything but completely straightforward with Moody.

"And the things you do remember are perfect for kicking up several large hornets' nests."

"I think this is something that needs to be done."

Moody snorted. "Flushing a Basilisk out of a school? Yeah, I'd say so. All the same, no offence to you, kid, but it's frankly a waste of my time. This is something the tossers over at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures should be able to do. Why Dumbledore insisted on dragging half the-" he broke off and stared at Lisa suspiciously.

"I know about the Order of the Phoenix," she replied patiently.

"Unsurprising, for some reason. And were you given this information, or is one of the many things you inconveniently just _happen to know_?"

"The latter, I'm afraid. And there's a reason this has to stay within trusted circles only. The Ministry is not... free from infiltration, as I'm sure you know only too well."

"You're thinking one of the Death Eater scum walking around will try to use a Basilisk?"

"I'm sure they would. But this is about more than the Basilisk, Alastor. I had hoped that Dumbledore would have filled you in, but..."

He snorted again.

"Dumbledore is a great man, but..."

"He has his failings," she finished for him. "He keeps things too close to his vest."

Moody scowled and looked away, forbearing to comment further.

"I may know how to get rid of-" she paused and looked around hastily, in case there were any eavesdroppers, before turning back to Moody and mouthing, "Voldemort. For good."

Both of Moody's eyes fixed on her in what had to be the most unsettling stare known to wizardkind.

"And the-" her voice dropped to a whisper here, "Basilisk is something we need out of the way, first."

"You don't strike me as the trusting type either, Miss Arwen," said Moody, and there was a very sharp edge to his voice. "So how is it that you're so free with information all of a sudden."

"Because I don't know anyone else as committed as you are to getting rid of-" she mouthed the word again, "_Voldemort_ and his flunkies."

Moody grunted. "You don't need to keep doing that, by the way. I cast a silencing charm around our booth before you got here. No one can hear us, not even if they're standing right behind you with a hand cupped to each ear."

Lisa relaxed a little. "Well, that's a relief anyway. And there's something else. Something I specifically need your help with."

"What's that then?"

"Dumbledore has an unfortunate tendency to overlook the possibility of collateral damage. I, on the other hand, would like to do everything in my power to keep anyone who doesn't absolutely need to be involved completely out of this."

Mad-Eye shrugged. "Shouldn't be too difficult. We aren't at war anymore."

Lisa sighed. "No, we're not. But..." She trailed off, wondering how to phrase it.

"The thing is, getting into the Chamber needs a Parselmouth."

"And we don't know any at the moment."

"Yeah, that's... that's not entirely true," she said, hating the words even as they left her lips.

Moody narrowed his eyes. "Well, if you know a Parselmouth, that's fantastic. Out with it, then!"

"Yeah, that's just it. The only Parselmouth _I _know is a child."

He blinked at her, momentarily at a loss. "I see," he said finally, settling back in his chair and taking another swig from his flask.

He pondered this for a few minutes before speaking. "You said it's like a language? It can be learned?"

"Right. We might mangle the diction a little, but we could, technically speaking, be able to learn enough of it to open the doors to the Chamber."

"And the snake? Could we control it?"

"I don't know. Even assuming we can learn enough Parseltongue to hold a conversation with the creature, it has no reason to listen to us. It would have obeyed Riddle because he was giving it what it wanted - fresh prey, freedom to roam through the castle, all that."

"Hmm." He looked thoughtful.

"And what does this have to do with the, er, the Dark Panjandrum?"

"That's where it gets complicated," she replied, earning herself another derisive snort. The words _As if it isn't complicated enough already_ hung in the air between them.

"I believe," she continued, ignoring this, "and Dumbledore agrees with me, that the reason why he isn't dead yet is because he's created a boatload of-" she stumbled over the word, involuntarily looking over her shoulder again, "_horcruxes."_

Moody physically recoiled at that, disbelief clouding his features.

"Plural?"

"Yes. Dumbledore and I found the first one."

"You FOUND-" Moody nearly leapt out of his seat in suppressed fury and surprise.

"Shhh!"

He sat down, swearing profusely under his breath and glaring at her.

"Miss Arwen, I swear-"

"Alastor, please. Contain yourself. We need you to be on board with us. _I _need you to be on board with this."

He was silent then, but the intensity of the glare only seemed to increase. Lisa mused that it wouldn't surprise her if her hair were to spontaneously combust.

"Basilisk venom is one of the few things that can reliably destroy a Horcrux," she continued, once she was sure he wasn't about to launch into another outburst. "And considering we have a Basilisk just sitting in the bowels of the Castle, it also seems to be the most convenient. But nothing about this is easy."

"And the Horcrux? It's safe?"

"Dumbledore has it sufficiently warded for now."

Moody grunted again. His friendship with the Headmaster seemed to be undergoing considerable strain at the moment.

"And what makes you think it isn't the only one?"

_Ah._

"Well, that's..." Lisa blushed crimson. She dreaded having to explain this over and over again.

"Part of your inexplicable trove of knowledge?"

"Pretty much," she replied, cringing.

"Right, well." He took another swig and looked at the flask with distaste. "Empty. That's my cue to leave. Just one final thing left for us to settle before I do."

"The bill?"

"A name. Tell me the name of the Parselmouth kid, so we can get the ball rolling on all of this."

"Ah, right." She gulped. "Harry Potter."

Judging by his expression, it must have taken all of Moody's will power not to throw his flask at her head.

* * *

**AN: **Life has been _very _nasty lately, so this update took longer than I expected. I'm so glad to see that people are enjoying reading this though. I'll try to update again within a week, as long as there are no more curveballs!


	8. Number Four, Privet Drive

Chapter Eight  
Number Four, Privet Drive

Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Of course, the four people currently standing on their doorstep were proving to be a rather annoying monkey wrench in their perfectly normal works at the moment.

"Thank you," Dumbledore was saying brightly as he stepped into the house he had by no means been invited into. "We haven't officially met. You must be Petunia."

Petunia Dursley's lips were a thin line, and whiter than the rest of her face. She took another step backwards and collided with her husband, who was purple with rage, and immediately tried to insert himself between her and the advancing Dumbledore.

"Albus Dumbledore," the Headmaster continued, smiling affably and giving himself the overall image of a very polite psychopath. "We have... corresponded."

"You have no right!" blustered Vernon Dursley, making a very poor attempt at standing his ground. "This is ridiculous, and you have no right! You are trespassing! I demand that you-"

"Alright, alright," snapped Alastor, the last one in. He shut the front door behind him. "Relax, will you? We're just here to talk."

"Perhaps in here?" Dumbledore gestured towards the living room, still smiling. Lisa got a glimpse of his face and was struck with the urge to slap the smile off it.

The Dursleys pressed themselves against the wall as Dumbledore, Moody, Snape and Lisa all filed past them into the living room and proceeded to make themselves comfortable.

_We're so rude_, she couldn't help musing. Good as it felt to see the abusive couple do the quivering in fear for a change, it didn't help to realize that she and her companions were simply playing the bigger bully in the scenario.

"We've come to see young Harry," said Dumbledore, once they were all seated.

Lisa watched the Dursleys exchange nervous glances.

"He's-" began Petunia, only to be cut off by her husband.

"At school. Very important, formative years and all that, you know."

Dumbledore nodded graciously. "Then we will wait."

"He's not in that locked cupboard next to you by any chance, is he?" asked Lisa, her tone cutting across them like ice.

She wouldn't have imagined that it was possible for Petunia to get whiter, or for Vernon to get more purple in the face.

"N-no..."

"In the what?" Moody growled, looking at the cupboard she'd mentioned. "Merlin's pants! There's a kid in there!"

"What? No, no, of course not. Harry's at school."

Moody's magical eye had clearly seen into the cupboard, for he got up and strode past them, wand already out. The swish and flick were almost imperceptible, but there was an audible click as the lock gave away and the door to the cupboard under the stairs swung open.

"Er, hallo there, young man. Er..." he looked around at the rest of them for help. "I think I'm scaring him even more. Can somebody step in here who doesn't have a crazy eyeball?"

Lisa figured this was her cue, especially going by the way Snape was staring straight ahead, his face a rictus. As she passed Dumbledore, she got the sense that he was somehow _radiating _anger, and all of it aimed at the Dursleys cowering in the doorway.

Moody moved back to let her pass as she bent down to look into the tiny space under the staircase. A dark haired boy sat on a small cot inside, knees drawn up to his chin, eyes wide.

"Hello there. You must be Harry?"

The boy nodded.

"I'm Lisa. I... We're friends of your parents, and we've come to say hello. Would you like to come outside?"

His glance darted in the direction of Petunia's sniffles.

"That's alright," she continued, as sweetly as she could muster. "You can come out. Your aunt and uncle don't mind."

He entered the living room, wide-eyed and taking in every aspect of their appearance from head to toe.

"Hello, Harry," said Dumbledore, his tone somehow warmer than Lisa had ever heard it before. It occurred to her that for all his failings, Dumbledore held genuine affection for the boy. Perhaps there was hope for the old man yet.

"Hi," said Harry. He was a scrawny kid, the oversized clothes he was wearing practically swallowing him whole. He adjusted his glasses self-consciously, and Lisa noted the tape that was holding them together.

"So, you're," he darted another nervous look at his aunt and uncle, "friends of my parents?"

"And fine folk they were," said Moody from behind him, causing the boy to turn around and return the old man's scarred smile.

_He isn't really afraid of any of us, _Lisa realized. _Not even Moody. _

"Well, Harry," began Dumbledore. "I'm Albus Dumbledore, and I'm the Headmaster at the school your parents attended when they were younger."

"Where- Where did they go to school?" The question came tentatively, as if he wasn't quite sure how welcome questions were.

"The school is called Hogwarts, and we have your name down for it as well. We expect to see you there in a few years' time."

Behind Lisa, she heard Vernon Dursley fidget. It sounded as though he'd been about to say something, and been elbowed into silence by his wife.

"Me? I..." Another glance at his aunt and uncle. "Uh..."

"You needn't worry about anything. All the arrangements for your schooling have already been taken care of," responded Dumbledore smoothly. "And this," he went on, gesturing to Snape, "is Professor Snape. He will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"Oh, right." Harry gave Snape a tentative smile, one which the older man showed no sign of seeing, let alone acknowledging. Snape was still staring at the opposite wall, looking very much like he'd just had a run-in with a conscientious basilisk. Lisa realized that he hadn't deigned to so much as look at the boy yet.

"This here is Alastor Moody. He works with the Ministry of- Er, the Ministry."

"And this," continued Dumbledore slightly louder, just as Harry showed every sign of being about to ask 'Ministry of what?' "is Miss Lisa Arwen."

Lisa gave him the warmest smile she could muster, aware that it wasn't quite reaching her eyes. Seeing Harry was bringing back the maelstrom of emotions she'd been dealing with earlier. Rage at the way he had been treated was warring with fury at deeper, less determinate injustices.

Lisa wasn't very sure what Dumbledore was going to say next, but Vernon Dursley saved him the trouble.

"Now, look here, you... crackpots," said the man, wrenching himself free of his wife's grip. "I don't care who you think you are. Nothing gives you the right to barge into my house and we certainly didn't give you leave to make yourself comfortable. Nor is it right that you fill the boy's head with nonsense - he won't be going to your ruddy school, and I'm certainly not paying for it."

Dumbledore looked around as if weighing the pros and cons of losing his temper in front of everybody.

"Miss Arwen, could you please be so kind as to take young Harry outside? Perhaps you could begin by telling him a little about why we're here today. And Severus, if you would join them, please?"

Snape rose at that, looking like he'd been struck in the face with something extremely unpleasant, and swept out. Lisa extended a hand to Harry, which he considered gravely before preceding her out the door.

_Too grown up to be holding anyone's hand? Or just too independent? _Lisa couldn't help but wonder.

The Dursleys' lawn was well kept, if rather unimaginative. She sat down in a corner of the lawn and gestured to Harry that he was to do the same. Snape stood several metres away, stiff as a rod, and still refusing to look at either of them.

"I know this must all be very confusing for you," she said, by way of starting a conversation.

Harry regarded her with deep green eyes. "If you're friends of my parents, how come I've never met any of you before?"

"Well, uh," she cleared her throat, suddenly aware that Snape was listening intently, inspite of himself. "Well, when your parents passed away, your aunt and uncle were your closest living relatives. So you were brought here by Professor Dumbledore. I think he stayed away after that because he felt it might be easier for you to adjust."

It was a terrible explanation and they all knew it. Harry said nothing, studying the lawn with great intensity.

"What were they like?" he asked after a few moments.

"Well, I..." Lisa felt acutely embarrassed. "To be honest, I never had the pleasure of meeting them. The others have though. Er, Professor Snape here knew your mother well."

If looks that weren't directly aimed at you could kill, Lisa would have died instantaneously. Snape was examining the house across the street with such ferocity that she half expected the entire structure to vapourize on the spot.

Harry, however, had immediately swung around to stare at Snape.

"Is that true?" he asked. "Did you know her?"

Snape grunted assent, clearly not trusting himself to speak further.

"What was she like?"

A barely perceptible shrug. "She was... nice."

After waiting a few moments and realizing that no further information was forthcoming, Harry turned his attention back to her.

"My aunt and uncle didn't seem too happy to see all of you."

"I imagine they're not," she replied wryly. "But that can't be helped. You have people that care about you, Harry. People other than your aunt and uncle. And they're just going to have to make space for all of us too."

"Oh." He looked down again, and then brightened immediately. "That would be nice."

Dumbledore chose that moment to come striding out of the house.

"Well," he said, clapping his hands together. "Harry, I've sorted some things out with your aunt and uncle. You're to have a new bedroom!"

"I am? But there isn't any more space..."

"'Course there is! I'm told the third bedroom in the house will do nicely."

Lisa and Harry got to their feet and began walking back to the house in Dumbledore's wake.

"But that's the room for all of Dudley's stuff," she heard him mumble under his breath.

"Well, I'm sure they'll be able to find another place for it," she told him jovially. Her voice sounded loud and false to her ears. The longer she spent around the Dursleys, the faster she seemed to spiral into a depression.

When they re-entered the house, Petunia and Vernon looked as if they'd personally passed through the seven hells and only just reemerged.

Dumbledore turned to Harry.

"As I was just telling your aunt and uncle, a few concerns have been raised about the future of your education. We thought it might be best if Lisa and Severus were to give you some classes, perhaps once or twice a week, so you'll be well prepared for when you join Hogwarts. In the meantime, I think you can move your things to your new room."

Harry nodded mutely. The sudden windfall of an entire room to himself seemed to be too much for him to process all at once.

Once Harry had left the room, Dumbledore turned his attention back to the Dursleys, who very much looked like they'd rather be anywhere but here.

"I hope you will remember what we have discussed here, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley. My colleagues will be back to check on Harry regularly, and I hope everything will go smoothly from this point forward."

He tipped his hat and beamed again.

"Good day."

* * *

**AN:** The first paragraph of this chapter have been taken verbatim from _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_. All rights to these lines as well as the characters and this universe belong to J.K. Rowling and the publishers, and I'm merely dabbling in this world for fun.


	9. The Finest Linguistic Traditions

Chapter Nine  
The Finest Linguistic Traditions

They walked away from Privet Drive in absolute silence. Moody, ever vigilant, was scanning the street for potential threats, but everyone else was wrapped up in their own thoughts. They apparated back to the Hogwarts gates in absolute silence. They walked back to the Headmaster's office in absolute silence.

All things considered, it had gone pretty well, mused Lisa. Not for Dumbledore, by the looks of it. The man gave her the impression of someone who was in shock.

_Didn't know what you were putting the kid through? _asked a nasty voice inside Lisa's head. She ignored it - she didn't think Dumbledore particularly _needed_ telling that he'd messed up.

Once they got back to his office, the Headmaster turned to face them, and once again, Lisa was struck by how old he looked.

"I want to thank all of you for coming along today. While what we are trying to achieve is of utmost importance, it might be best if young Harry was eased into things, rather than have all the relevant information thrown at him all at once."

Lisa nodded in agreement.

"Severus, Miss Arwen, I leave this in your capable hands. Alastor, is there any progress on finding someone else who is proficient in this... language?"

"Inquiries are progressing," said Alastor promptly, reminding Lisa of a subordinate officer reporting to his general. "You'll be the first to know as soon as we have something."

"Thank you. Well, I won't keep any of you further. We've all had a long day."

Severus lingered behind the others as they left, and then shut the door behind him. His face, as he turned to face the Headmaster, was a pretty picture.

"Headmaster. Is it really necessary that I be present for this... experiment?"

Dumbledore eyed him wearily.

"I do think it's necessary, Severus. I understand that this is rather hard on you-"

"Hard on me! They had the kid locked up like he was a- Like he was a-"

Snape's anger seemed beyond words.

"I had hoped they would care for him like their own son. Clearly, I was mistaken."

"I could have told you!" hissed Snape. "I've known that woman for as long as I've known..."

He huffed and turned away.

"She hates magic with a passion," he said, his back still turned.

"My apologies, Severus," said Dumbledore softly. "I seem to discount the value of other peoples' knowledge far too often. An old man's failings. I hope you will not hold it against young Harry. He needs what guidance we can give him. I fear his troubles are far from over."

"If the Dark Lord returns..."

"We will ensure he doesn't," came the swift reply. "You have my word."

Snape nodded stiffly and swept out of the room, not once bothering to look back. If he had, he might have seen what appeared to be tears shining in the old Headmaster's eyes.

* * *

To say that Alastor Moody was disquieted was an understatement. To be fair, being disquieted was almost Moody's default state of existence. It wasn't as though he was one of the fools who tended to put Dumbledore on a pedestal. Moody had long felt that the man had too much faith in the inherent goodness of humanity.

Perhaps that explained why he had been feeling so disoriented over the past few days. Their roles had always been clear - he was the hardboiled cynic, and the Headmaster trusted the untrustworthy.

And yet, here they were. Moody's misplaced trust felt irrevocably broken. He tried to tell himself that playing one's cards close to one's vest was only good sense. But the capacity for deception Dumbledore had shown left his throat dry. As if on automatic, he reached for his hip flask and found it empty.

Moody swore.

The more time he spent around her, the more he was beginning to appreciate what Lisa Arwen was doing. Moody may have dropped the ball as far as vigilance was concerned, but _she _knew what needed to be addressed, and was going straight for the jugular.

Alastor Moody had been in an unpredictable line of work for a very long time now, but he wasn't sure he was even half prepared for whatever she was going to come up with next.

* * *

It had been a long day, mused Lisa as she sank gratefully into her bed. Muscles she hadn't known existed seemed to be protesting, even though she couldn't remember doing anything physically strenuous.

It must be the mental fatigue, she concluded. But now she could rest for a bit, close her eyes for a few hours, forget-

There was a sharp rap on the door, and Lisa swore. Maybe if she just lay here with her eyes closed, and didn't move a muscle, they'd-

Nope, there it was again. The unmistakeable sound of somebody knocking at the door, intent on disturbing the peace of mind she so badly craved...

"Miss Arwen?"

His voice sounded tentative, rusty from disuse, even. Lisa rolled her eyes at the ceiling in the dark.

_What could he possibly want at this hour? _

She swung herself out of bed and marched to the door. By the time she pulled it open, she had worked herself into the quickest rage known to wizardkind.

"_What_," she asked with heavy emphasis, "could you possibly want at this hour?"

Severus Snape looked slightly startled, and unaccountably guilty.

"I'm... Er... It's only seven in the evening."

_That couldn't be right._

But a quick glance at her watch told her he was right.

"Oh. Sorry. I'm just tired."

There was an awkward pause as they looked at each other, both waiting for the other to say something. Lisa took the opportunity to mentally recount the various kinds of shampoos she was inclined to recommend to the greasy man in front of her.

"Was there something you needed, Professor Snape?" she asked finally, once she'd run out of shampoo thoughts.

"Yeah, uh, I hoped we could... talk?"

Snape was fidgeting, Lisa realized with amazement. Sighing, she stood aside to let him in.

"Please. Make yourself comfortable."

He walked in gingerly, as if expecting to encounter a kelpie any moment now. He seated himself at the desk, on the very edge of the chair and looked around uncomfortably.

"I, er, hope I'm not intruding."

Lisa resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Snape sounded like polite conversation was something he'd read about in a book once. By accident.

"Not at all," she said, walking back to the bed and curling up on it. She looked at him expectantly, causing him to engage in an immediate and absorbing study of the ceiling.

In the pause that followed, Lisa could have gotten through an entire array of conditioners and shower gel. She was beginning to realize that Snape was probably right at home with awkward silences - he must instigate a lot of them.

"It's been a long day," she finally said, apropos of nothing, and curled up on the bed, burrowing well into her blanket. Snape's consternation was a sight to behold.

"I, oh, well, I should be going," he said, rising from his seat.

"You could," came Lisa's voice lazily from somewhere under the blankets. "Or you could make yourself comfortable."

She resurfaced. "Come on, man. Conjure yourself up an armchair or something. And get us both a drink while you're at it. I know I could use it."

Snape may have been at a loss for words, but conjuring things was right up his alley. Lisa sipped the brilliant red liquid he'd procured appreciatively.

"What is this? It tastes delicious."

"Elf-made wine," he replied, taking a sip from his own glass. His lips were set in such a thin line Lisa was surprised he was actually able to drink through them.

"Well, my compliments to the elf." She stretched and drank some more wine before motioning to Snape. "You said you wanted to talk."

"Yes, I..."

Lisa groaned mentally. Talking to this man was more painful than tooth extraction.

"It's just... all this. In general." He waved his free arm vaguely. "I couldn't help but wonder. Do you really know what you're doing?"

She sighed.

"I ask myself that constantly, Professor. I hope I'm doing the right thing, but as with most things, I can't be sure."

"I used to be sure, once upon a time," Snape muttered morosely, starting on his second glass of wine.

"Certainty. It's a luxury only youth can afford," she remarked dryly, receiving a grunt in response.

"Why is it necessary to involve the boy at all?" he blurted out some time later.

"You don't like him?"

Snape gestured irritably. "My likes and dislikes are irrelevant. A kid cannot be helpful to us, and he shouldn't be a part of this."

"You're right. He shouldn't be a part of this." Lisa was halfway through her second glass as well, and was beginning to slur a little. "Damn," she said, giving the glass a critical once-over. "This stuff is strong."

Snape snorted. "Say you haven't got the head for it, and be done."

She ignored him. "But to say he can't be helpful-"

"He isn't even ten yet," Snape sneered.

"He defeated Voldemort," she pointed out. "When he was one."

He scowled. "The Dark Lord defeated _himself. _He must have made a mistake somewhere in his calculations."

"Aye, that he did." She gave Snape an appraising look, wondering how much she could trust him with. "If you must know, it wasn't Harry that defeated Voldemort. It was Lily."

It should have come as no surprise that Snape went white at the mention of her name, but Lisa was still taken aback by the intensity of his reaction. He turned to look at her with the kind of desperate, imploring gaze only a drunk, despairing man can summon up.

"Is that true?" he asked, his voice ragged.

"Yes," she said simply. "She sacrificed herself to save her son's life. In doing so, she made sure Voldemort would never be able to hurt him."

He looked away. "And when he tried..."

"He was destroyed."

It seemed to take Snape an eternity to collect his thoughts.

"So then must see that the boy couldn't possibly-"

"Harry may not have defeated Voldemort, but their encounter left him with some unusual skills - ones that will help us now. It is not, however, my intention that he be actually involved in any of this. In fact, I was rather hoping that _you _would be interested in the job."

"What job's that?" Snape asked, diving into his fourth glass of the evening.

"Talking down the basilisk, of course," she said, subsiding into giggles at the glare Snape gave her.

"You think _I _should be the one to learn how to speak Parseltongue?" he asked in disbelief.

"In keeping with the finest linguistic traditions of your noble house." she laughed.

This news had the effect of driving Snape into a further sulk. The two of them sat together in silence, methodically drinking their way through the rest of the bottle.

"I should be off," Snape said finally, attempting to stand up. The world seemed to be twirling on an axis that was at ninety degrees to its usual one.

"Good man," mumbled Lisa, sensing blessed sleep curling in from the corners of her thoughts. "Sure you can find your way back?"

"I am," slurred Snape, "master of this school, you know." He tried to draw himself up to his full height. The effect was underwhelming.

"Are you trying to puff out your chest?" Lisa asked with detached curiosity. It put one in mind of a bedraggled crow flapping its wings.

Snape met this comment with dignified silence. The effort was rather spoiled when he took another step, staggered off balance, and tripped over his robe.

"Just conjure up a mattress and sleep it off," Lisa said, already half-asleep. Her suggestion was met with mumbled groaning from the floor. She drifted off to sleep then, not waiting to find out what he eventually decided to do.

* * *

**AN:** Bit of a filler chapter, but I really want Lisa and Snape to be friends. Do you think they have it in them? Snape could use a friend! XD


	10. Stopper of Death and Snake Vanquisher

Chapter 10  
Stopper of Death and Vanquisher of Snakes

"I'm a what?" asked Harry blankly.

"He's a what?" echoed Snape, sounding furious.

"A wizard," Lisa repeated patiently, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the Potions master's reaction.

"What... what does that mean?" asked Harry, clearly starting to worry about the sanity of these adults he was expected to trust.

"I thought we weren't telling him yet!" Snape muttered furiously out of the corner of his mouth.

"Well, if you had a simpler way of going about all of this, Severus, you've had all week to tell me."

Snape huffed and stalked away, pacing the length of the garden. Harry's eyes followed him.

"Did he really know my mom?" he asked Lisa in an undertone.

"Yeah, he did," she sighed. "I wouldn't bring it up with him though. He's kind of touchy about it."

"Why?"

"Well, they weren't exactly on speaking terms when she- You know?"

Harry nodded, his eyes still on Snape.

"Professor Dumbledore said you guys would be teaching me stuff. Is that... Are you going to be teaching me... Wizardry?"

"Magic," she corrected him. "And no. Underage wizards and witches aren't allowed to use magic outside of an academic environment."

"So nobody gets to do magic until they get to Hogwarts?"

"Well," she began reluctantly, "technically, some kids do. After all, not everyone even goes to Hogwarts. Some kids are home-schooled. Others go to other schools that teach magic. It's kind of up to their parents and guardians, really."

"So I-"

"No," she responded swiftly, cutting him off. The hopeful look in his eyes dimmed almost immediately. "Since you live with your aunt and uncle, who are Muggles, you cannot practice magic here. We'd need a Ministry order or something, and we're actually trying not to draw too much attention to what we're doing."

"Oh." She could tell he was trying not to sound too disappointed. It didn't work.

"So what are you allowed to teach me?"

"Well, this is mostly to get you acquainted with the wizarding world. So it isn't too much of a culture shock when you start attending school. So, we're mostly here to talk to you about what it's like, the do's and don'ts, maybe even about _the politics_..." she trailed off, the last part of her sentence having been intentionally louder than the rest of it.

The ploy worked, judging by the speed with which Snape came stalking back.

"I don't think we should be filling the boy's head with political nonsense."

"Your contribution is duly noted, Severus," she replied, grinning. "So what would you like to start with?"

"Well, I suppose I could talk about Potions," he said, loftily. "That is the subject I teach at Hogwarts."

Harry leaned forward eagerly, and Lisa could see that Snape wasn't entirely unhappy at being the centre of attention.

"Potion making," he began "is a subtle science and an exact art. There is little foolish wand-waving here, and I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death-"

"Alright, let me stop you right there," said Lisa, fighting back the urge to snigger. Severus Snape the poet. Who would have thought it?

"There are wands?" asked Harry, excited. "Do I get one?"

"Is that all you gleaned from my words?"

Lisa felt like she'd popped a nerve in her temple from trying not to laugh as Snape literally threw up his hands.

"That's it. I'm done here. Arwen, Potter, I wish you both a long and productive discussion on _wand-waving."_

"He seems touchy about a lot of things," observed Harry as they watched Snape's cloak billow around the corner.

"Yeah, well, I just hope he remembers he's supposed to be my ride," she murmured.

"Do wizards have cars?" Harry asked interestedly.

"What?"

"You said he's supposed to be your ride."

"Oh, no. Most wizards don't bother with cars. We Apparate. It's like... teleportation. You disappear in once place and reappear at another."

Harry's eyes were as big as saucer plates.

"Can you teach me?"

"Well, for one thing, I don't know how to do it yet either."

Lisa's attempts at Apparation had so far been unqualified failures, resulting in Snape baldly stating that he was astounded she was managing not to splinch herself. At this point, Lisa would have welcomed a splinch - at least it meant _some_ part of her was getting where it was supposed to go.

"And for another, you have to be of age. You need to be 17 years old to pass your Apparation test."

"Oh." He looked visibly disappointed.

"Cheer up," said Lisa, laughing despite herself. "It's not an easy thing to learn, but I'm sure you'll be able to pass your test when the time comes. No sweat."

"What if I need to get someplace?"

Lisa had a feeling she knew why he was asking this.

"Well, until you're older, you'll have an adult accompanying you, so that won't be a problem."

Harry's lip twisted into a little scowl as he studied the freshly mowed lawn.

"Look, kid, you do know that we have people keeping an eye on your aunt and uncle now? They aren't going to be... as bad as before."

He nodded at the ground.

"Once you're going to school and stuff, we can probably explore other arrangements. _Part time,"_ she added hastily as Harry looked up eagerly.

"And," she continued tentatively, "there's always the Knight Bus."

"The what?"

"It's a tinpot nightmare, but it can get you places. Maybe you can start using it when you're older."

"You'll tell me where to find it?"

"All in good time. Now, back to topic. In addition to Potions, you'll be learning Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy..."

The afternoon passed quickly as she tried to field all of Harry's questions without getting too sidetracked. He was mildly fascinated by Astronomy, enchanted by the idea of real, live unicorns, and most of all, blown away by Quidditch. Unsurprisingly, the idea of flying seemed to have engulfed the boy's imagination. Lisa made a mental note to get him a book or two on the subject, along with any other reading material that might suit a child. Harry was, in her opinion, criminally deprived of books to read in his aunt and uncle's house.

Snape turned up towards evening, sitting nearby in sullen silence as she talked to the kid. She turned to him eventually, once both she and Harry had run out of breath.

"Severus, the thing we discussed..."

He gave her a look of pure annoyance.

"Arwen, I thought we were going to give this more time. There's no reason to alarm the boy..."

"I don't think he will be that alarmed."

The man huffed, restlessly smoothing the front of his robes.

"I don't know about this."

"Well, I think he'll be fine."

"Fine," he spat, pulling out his wand and pointing it at the ground.

"Now, Harry there's no-," she began, laying one hand on the boy's shoulder.

"_Serpensortia_," Snape snarled.

"-need to worry," she finished, as a long snake slithered out from the end of Snape's wand. Judging by the way Harry's shoulders had tightened, he did in fact think there was a need to worry.

"It's not dangerous," she continued, as the cobra began to move across the ground slowly.

"It's not?" "It's not dangerous because Professor Snape will dismiss it if it looks like it's going to cause any problems."

"That's... reassuring," said Harry, darting a look at the forbidding figure of Professor Snape, Stopper of Death and Vanquisher of Snakes. "Did you need me to do something?" he asked in an urgent whisper as the snake's aimless movements began to take it closer to the two of them.

"Yeah," said Lisa, painfully aware of how her next words were going to sound. "I need you to talk to it."

Harry gaped.

"Er, like, 'how'd you do?' Something like that?"

"Anything. Just... see if you can establish a dialogue."

"Establish... a dialogue. With the snake." Harry backed away slightly as the snake drew closer. "And this is magic?"

"Er..." Lisa exchanged a glance with Snape, whose face was black as thunder. "Of a sort."

"Right," muttered Harry. "Alright. Um... Hi."

The snake got closer as he looked at Lisa for confirmation. She shook her head.

"Nope. That was English."

Harry was perspiring.

"Er, look, if you could just... slow down? Stop? Please _sstop?"_

The snake stopped in its tracks like it had hit a wall, and stared almost incredulously at Harry. A long, sibilant hiss escaped it, and Lisa listened in amazement as the boy answered in kind.

_It's working!_

The hissing went on for a little longer, after which Harry looked up at the two of them.

"It's a little annoyed at being told what to do, to be honest. It says it didn't ask to be here."

"Well, it has a point," said Lisa, letting out a laugh of relief. "Well done, Harry!"

Harry beamed at the two of them, causing even Severus' scowl to relax slightly.

"I did it!"

"Yes, you did. This is amazing!" She fumbled in her pocket, pulling out the enchanted tape recorder Moody had procured for them.

"Now, if you could help us with one more thing..."

* * *

**AN: Thank you, everyone, for your kind reviews! I'm sorry an update took so long, but with exams all of December, it was a little difficult to get back to writing. But here's the next chapter, and I promise the next one won't be as much of a wait. Hope you like it! **


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